When I finished, I packed the divorce papers and my son’s keepsakes carefully into my bag. I did not look back. I did not linger. I slipped out of the villa that had once been ours. The night wind was bone-cold, but my mind had never been clearer.
At the street corner, I pulled out my phone and sent the copied videos to Alan in one hurried burst. My fingers trembled as I hit send.
[Evidence found. I have witnesses.]
[Prepare for court, Atty.]
At that moment, Charlton and Mariam were sleeping soundly, unaware that earlier at our son’s tomb, I had replayed the video she had planted over and over until I was certain it proved she had intentionally swapped the infusion. They did not know it had taken me four years to master the glioblastoma surgery. Even if the hospital doctors understood the theory, it would take them a long time before they could perform it in practice.
When Alan replied, I allowed myself my first quiet, easing smile.
‘Mariam and Charlton, go to hell together!’
